


The Biggest Lie

by crazynadine



Series: domino effect [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Denial of Feelings, Driving, Homophobic Language, M/M, On the run from the law, Oral Sex, Reunions, Sad, Self-Denial, Smut, Swearing, post prison escape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 00:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynadine/pseuds/crazynadine
Summary: Ian goes with Mickey when he flees Chicago on the run from the law. As they get closer to the border, both men realize there are things they don't know how to say, and they are running out of time to say them....





	The Biggest Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: you should have seen Shameless S7E11 to understand this fic. 
> 
> title taken from the Elliott Smith song 'the biggest lie' it's good, and also very angsty. if your into shit that will make you cry, give him a listen, he's one of my all time favorites. .
> 
> ** this can be read as a stand alone fic, but it fits in nicely with my ongoing collection, so i stuck it in there. you don't NEED to read the others to get the gist of this, however. **

Oh we're so very precious, you and I  
And everything that you do makes me want to die  
Oh I just told the biggest lie  
I just told the biggest lie  
The biggest lie 

\--Elliott Smith--

 

They've been driving forever. Endless hours of nothing but dirt and dry grass as far as the eye could see. Ian saw a tree a few hours ago, but that was pretty much it for scenery. 

Conversation is light. Ian never felt the need to fill the silence, not with Mickey. They had always been content just to be in each other's presence, neither ever feeling awkward or unsure in the quiet space between them.

But the silence is not as comfortable this time. Ian can feel it. The elephant in the car, so to speak. 

'The stolen car.' Ian's mind hisses, unhelpfully. 

What is he doing? 

Why did he do this? 

He promised himself he wasn't going to get involved. He promised Trevor. He promised Fiona. He said he wasn't getting sucked back into Mickey's crazy shit. He was better now. Healthy. Stable. 

This shit right now was the opposite of stable. 

This was fucking crazy. 

When Mickey asked him to come with him to Mexico, his first urge had been to say 'Fuck Yes.' But he held back. Made a noncommittal vow to think on it, and left that van to go back to his real life. 

So how did he end up in fucking Texas, in a stolen car, after ditching Mickey's escapee gang banger cell mate after an ill-fated attempted robbery? 

What the fuck is he doing?

This is a Monica move. 

Oh fuck, is this a Monica move? 

Ian feels panic gripping his body. A cold, tacky sweat breaks out on the back of his neck and he can't breath all of the sudden. His head starts to swim and he can feel bile rising in his throat. 

Is he manic? 

He doesn't feel manic. He feels fine. He has felt better than fine over the past few days. Free and light and happy, but not in that wired, half-crazed manic way he knows too well. 

He feels happy because he's finally back with Mickey. Simple as that. He takes a slow breath, holding it before letting it out even slower through his nose. 

Okay, this situation is fucked, but he's not losing his shit. He took a chance. A dangerous, thoughtless chance, to be with Mickey one more time. 

He just couldn't walk away. He had to be near him. 

Now, the question is, for how long? 

Ever since Mickey had brought up the idea of running, Ian had been thinking about it, really thinking about it. Playing out all the different ways it could pan out. 

Granted, most of the outcomes he could see included blood or handcuffs. Or both. 

Somewhere along the Oklahoma/Texas border, Ian made up his mind. 

He'd go as far as the border, but then he'd stop. 

He'd take a bus or a train back to Chicago, leaving Mickey on the other side of the fence, safe from the Feds and his father, and gone from Ian's life. Forever. 

It wasn't an easy decision, even though it probably should have been. 

Run from the Federal government with an escapee EX boyfriend. Or stay in Chicago, with his steady job. His crazy, but loving family. His stable, non-violent, normal boyfriend. His shrink. His meds. His life. 

On paper, it seemed like a no-brainer. 

But his brain had nothing to do with his decision to take this ride with Mickey. 

It was all his heart. 

Well, his heart, and his cock. 

It's just, fuck. Mickey makes him feel so much. Brings up so much shit he tried to bury. Beneath his job and his distractions and his routine. Things he'd forgotten he'd ever felt at all. 

Things he thought he wanted to forget. 

But once he was faced with them again, he couldn't fucking get enough. 

Passion and excitement and fucking love. That warm fuzzy bullshit that you always hear about but never really feel. 

Mickey's the only person who's ever brought that out of him. 

And he wanted to feel it all again. 

Even if only for a few moments longer. 

He doesn't WANT to leave Mickey. He'd love to run with him, see the ocean, make love on the beach and listen to Mickey bitch about sand up his ass for days afterward.

But Ian needs to keep his mental health straight. Without that, he's nothing. He'd rather be dead than ever be that unmediated maniac he was back when he was first diagnosed. There was no telling what would happen to him if he ran away without a plan. And Mickey didn't have a plan, that much was clear. 

This whole road trip had been rife with chaos already. It had settled down after they ditched Mickey's psycho cell mate. That guy was dumb as a bag of hair, but he was reckless and almost got them killed. Ian had been fucking scared. The store clerk had almost shot him. 

So, now Ian's involved in a prison escape, an armed robbery, and grand theft auto. (It was kinda adorable that Mickey couldn't hot wire the station wagon. The look he gave Ian when the car roared to life was priceless. So fucking cute. But that's beside the point.) 

Ian's not new to a life of crime, but he'd left that shit in the past. Once Mickey got locked up and Ian started taking his meds. Once he started taking his health seriously, started taking his life seriously, he'd stopped taking stupid risks like the ones he's been taking the past two days. 

These incidents are highlighting the stark differences between Ian and Mickey right now. Where they are in life, what kinds of chances they are willing to take. Ian thought he'd left this risky behavior in his past, but being with Mickey brings it all back in full force. 

Maybe they are too different now...

Point in case: the debacle at the bank. Did Mickey really think he and Ian were going to rob the place? 

Okay, maybe that would have kind of made sense when they were kids. But Ian's not that desperate anymore. He berates himself silently for not being up front with Mickey before they went inside. When Mickey pulled out the ski mask, Ian almost shit himself. He had made a split second decision to fuck with him a little. Play along with the robbery idea, until the last minute. Maybe impress Mickey a little bit with his bank account. 

It had sounded like a good idea in his head, but fell flat in reality. Mickey was scared and desperate, and Ian was making jokes. 

Ian doesn't want to think of the reality of the situation. Mickey was in a fucking world of shit right now, and Ian right there next to him, up to his eyeballs too.

All these incidents solidify in Ian's mind as he watches a tumbleweed roll along the side of the highway. 

This is not good. 

Ian is fairly certain it's only going to get worse once they cross the border into the Mexican unknown. 

So he knew, he couldn't go, no matter how badly he wanted to stay with Mickey. 

It was just too dangerous. 

He just doesn't know how to tell Mickey any of that. Talking has never been their strong suit, and although Ian hasn't seen him in years, he's pretty positive Mickey hasn't changed all that much.  
So here he was, riding shotgun, while Mickey cruised down the interstate at a reasonable pace, (No need to draw attention to them.) wondering how he was going to break the news. 

That he was leaving Mickey. Again. 

Ian sighed, tilting his head to rest it against the window, his eyes fixed on the static landscape. 

What the fuck is he doing? 

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

Mickey's hand tightens on the wheel as he watches Ian in the passenger seat. Dude thinks he's slick, but really, he's not. Mickey knows him too well, can see right through his facade. 

He can practically see steam coming out of Ian's ears. He sees the tight set of Ian's jaw, the furrow of his eyebrows, the squinting of his eyes. He's deep in thought, and deeply troubled. 

Mickey holds in a sigh. He has a much better poker face than Ian, and he is not quite ready to tip his hand just yet. 

He's still reeling from the fact that Ian even got in the car with him. He almost shit himself when Ian opened the door and tossed him backpack inside before climbing in next to him. 

Mickey's heart had stopped dead for a second there, he swears. Then he smiled so wide he thought his face was gonna split in half. 

Things had gone a little sideways with Damon. Mickey didn't want to bring Ian into any of that shit. Didn't want him getting dirty like that, not after he'd done so much to scrape the ghetto scum off his skin. 

Mickey had been infuriated, and embarrassed, and scared for Ian and him both. That shit at the gas station could have gotten them both hemmed up. And the last thing he wanted was for Ian to get arrested with him. Aiding and abetting a fugitive was a big fucking deal, and Ian's way too pretty for prison. 

Mickey didn't even feel bad for leaving Damon on the side of the road with his dick in his hand. He was a loose cannon, and a liability. Even if he was Mickey's only real connection to Mexico. He'd have to figure it out on his own now. With Ian. 

And Mickey was sure, he could figure anything out, with Ian by his side. 

So he's not too worried about what's waiting for them on the other side of the border. 

Now if he could just get rid of that nagging whisper in the back of his mind, he'd be golden. 

The thing is, it won't shut the fuck up....

He's got a sinking feeling Ian's going to change his mind. They are deep into Texas now, the sun high in the sky, making it hot and uncomfortable in the car. 

Or it could be the atmosphere between him and Ian that is suffocating him. 

Mickey shakes his head a little, trying to rid himself of his negative thoughts. 

Why is he so sure Ian's going to bail on him? Is he being unreasonable? Assuming Ian will run because that's what he's always done? 

That's not fucking fair. Ian's not that same scared, sick kid he was back then. Just like Mickey's not the terrified, closed off thug he was once. 

He'd be upset if Ian still saw him that way. Does he still see him that way? 

Mickey's sure the 'busting out of prison' thing isn't doing much to improve his reckless criminal image. Or the bullshit he pulled at the bank. Pulling out a ski mask like a fucking idiot. But, to be fair, Ian never had a bank account before. How was Mickey supposed to know he'd delved that far into the 'normal' world? It would have been unheard of a couple years ago. 

Hell, Mickey's sure Ian would've helped him rob a bank, back in the day, if the need ever arose. 

He kind of wished they'd discussed the plan before walking into the bank. He could have saved himself from looking like an unhinged criminal, and kept his pride intact. He can't shake the feeling that Ian was fucking with him at the bank anyway. That shit he said to the teller. 'Just read the note.' He had to be fucking with Mickey, right? 

He's not sure how he's supposed to feel about that. 

Because he's not that guy anymore, not really. That thuggish criminal who's first thought was always illegal, or violent. 

He's just scared and desperate right now. There is so much on the line, for him and Ian both. 

He doesn't have to be that guy anymore. He can have a real life, like Ian does. He can do that, with Ian. 

He can be better, he knows it. He just needs a fucking chance.

He hopes Ian can see him as a different man now. Mickey hopes he has a chance to show Ian he's changing too, for the better. Even if this whole trip has been a fiasco from start to finish, making Mickey feel like he's made no progress at all. It actually is making him feel like he has gone fucking backwards, any headway he'd made with his prison shrink going down the shitter as he dons his ghetto trash persona again and again, making a fool of himself. Like he is still that dirty, violent prick he's been since he could form words to swear. 

When he first laid eyes on Ian again, he wanted nothing more than to show him how much he's changed, but all he's achieved so far has been showing Ian how much better he could do. 

But Mickey still has hope that Ian can see who he is now, and not just the sum of all his shitty decisions over the past few days. 

And if he can't see it, Mickey hopes Ian gives him a chance to show him. To show him how much he's grown. How he's evolved too. How he can be someone better. 

What the fuck? That prison shrink really turned him inside out. Even his own thoughts feel foreign to him now. Jesus, he's a fucking mess. 

He glances over at Ian, to see him still staring blankly out the window. 

What is he thinking? 

Why can't Mickey just fucking ask him? 

How are they ever going to get past all their shit and start this new life together if they can't even talk about how they feel, or what they are thinking? 

That's assuming Ian even makes it that far, which is still unknown at this point.

God damn it. 

Mickey has to talk to Ian. About a lot of shit. 

But he doesn't want to do it now. 

He wants to wait until they are done driving for the day, so they can sit across from each other, look into each other's eyes while they have this long overdue conversation. Get all these old, festering feelings out in the open. 

Maybe then he can put these fears of Ian ditching him again to rest. 

Maybe then he can get a little peace. 

He feels like he's been waiting forever, just to breathe again. 

It's always been easier breathe when he's with Ian. 

Mickey smiles. 

This is fucking IAN. Why is he overthinking this shit? Time may have changed some things, but there's no way it robbed them of their ability to bullshit with each other. 

It's not like he hasn't let his guard down at all... 

He let that one thing slip, back in Oklahoma, before they ditched Damon. Sure they'd both been stoned out of their minds, but it counts. 

The beach. Us. 

Mickey had told Ian, in no uncertain terms, that the only thing that got him through endless days alone in prison was the thought of seeing the ocean with Ian. The thought of being with Ian again, one day. 

Sure, he was fucking high as a kite, and didn't say it nearly as poetically as he heard it in his head, but he fucking said it. Which is more than his sixteen year old self would have done. 

Mickey has felt torn open and exposed since that conversation. He had distracted Ian from his vulnerability with sex. Just like he did when they were kids. Mickey was aware at the time, that he was taking a giant step backwards. Falling easily into old patterns and distractions. But actually talking about their shared past, and how much they hurt each other was just not something Mickey had been ready for at the time. 

Besides, he didn't want to hash that shit out in front of Damon regardless. 

They had ditched Damon not long after that, anyway. The incident at the gas station was not fucking cool. Mickey knew Damon was a liability, he was a god damn hit-man for a Mexican cartel after all, but he'd been hoping to utilize his connections to get across the border, and to help him get settled in Mexico. But after Damon pulled a gun on the clerk while he was trying to buy Ian a queer fucking Kind bar, Mickey realized that staying with Damon would only end with him back behind bars. 

Not that Mickey was much better, with that bank bullshit, he reminds himself bitterly. 

The conversation between the two men had been sparse after that. They were both so deep in their own heads, thinking things neither one could muster the courage to say out loud. 

Things had gone from bad to worse once Mickey had finally made it to the coyote's house. Damon had told him about this guy a hundred times in jail. Said Jesus could get anyone across the border. Half the dudes in Damon's gang were in the states thanks to Jesus. 

Damon had also promised that Jesus could do the whole process in reverse. Get them into Mexico without having to go through the border check. 

Well, once they actually got there, that shit turned out to not be the case at fucking all. 

And Mickey had made a fool of himself again. Ian had to drag him out of that party before Jesus's crew beat the shit out of both of them. 

So much for showing Ian how much he'd changed. Instead, he reverted back to his ghetto trash person, and Ian had to pull him back form the brink of another monumental mistake. 

Maybe Damon had lied. Or maybe he really thought Jesus could help them. He wasn't around for Mickey to ask anymore, so he'll never know. The main point is, Jesus could not, in fact, reverse coyote Mickey's ass into Mexico. 

They were on their own. 

Mickey feels guilt pool in his gut for dragging Ian into this insane bullshit. It's not the first time Mickey has felt guilty for getting Ian dirty with his shit life. But this time feels infinitely worse, because Ian was doing so well. Had a legit job, a boyfriend who wasn't a criminal or an emotional toddler. He had his family. He had a good life.

And Mickey's gone and fucked it all up. 

He hates himself in that moment, so much, for pulling Ian back into the shit with him. 

He was lying to himself, if he ever thought he'd be good enough for Ian. 

But he's not quite done deluding himself yet. Ian's still next to him, so he's gonna ride this 'til it dies. 

There's no other way, not with Ian. 

It was nearly time to pull over for the night. There was a cool breeze blowing through the open window. Mickey glanced over at Ian. He had a pensive look on his face, but he was still gorgeous. The setting sun reflecting off his hair made his whole head look like it was encased in a halo of flames. 

Mickey felt the sting in his eyes before he felt the burn in his throat. 

He turned his eyes back to the road, clearing his throat as he flicked the radio on to fill the silence. 

He wasn't going to cry over Ian. He wasn't going to cry in front of Ian. 

He took a deep breath, holding it for a second before letting it out slowly. 

He may be lying to the both of them right now, but he just couldn't find it in himself to come clean just yet. 

 

\----------------------------------

 

Mickey pulled the car up underneath a bridge for the rail line, so there was no real risk of anyone discovering them. He put the car in park, swinging his door open and stepping out of the car before Ian could even ask him what they were doing.

Mickey was done. He was done driving, he was done sitting in awkward, heavy silences with Ian. He was done playing it cool on the run from the feds. He was done pretending he knew what the fuck he was doing.

He was fucking done. 

He walked over to the back of the car, an irritated huff slipping past his lips as he hit the lever to spring the hatch on the back of the stupid car they stole. He stuck his head in the storage space, pulling the blanket and his backpack out and slamming the hatch closed harder than necessary. 

Done. God damn it.

He moved away from the car, towards a small cliff overlooking a river that ran under the railway bridge. The area was nice. If it had been under different circumstances, it would have been kinda romantic. 

Not that Mickey would ever say that shit, even if he wanted to.

Fuck. What the fuck is he doing?

He ran this exact scenario in his head a million time over in prison, but now that he's actually here, he's fucking lost. 

He drops down on the blanket, curling his arms around his knees, protective of himself. 

It doesn't help in the least. 

He feels open and exposed all over again. 

Ian must think he's a fucking idiot.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

Ian flops down on the blanket next to Mickey, hissing when he lands on a sharp rock. He shoves his hand under the blanket, wrapping his fingers around the offending stone and tossing it toward the river. 

Mickey chuckles at Ian's irritated expression. Ian rolls his eyes. And just like that, Mickey's entire mood lightens. He pushes down the doubt and worry and focuses solely on Ian. 

"Dick." he huffs.

"Uh huh." Mickey nods, not even trying to temper his smile. It feels good to laugh with Ian. 

Mickey feels the words he needs to say bubbling up in his stomach, but he pushes them down. He's still not quite ready.

Mickey pulls a cigarette from his pack, slipping it between his lips as Ian unzips the backpack, pulling two beers out of it and passing one to Mickey. Mickey takes it with a nod, untwisting the cap and taking a long, satisfying pull from the bottle. Fuck, he's not a drunk or anything, but did he missed beer while he was locked up. 

He missed a lot of things. 

They sit silently for a while, both still unsure of what to say. Now that the chaos of the past few days is gone, and it's just the two of them, the quiet amplifies with all their unsaid words. All their unexplained actions and secret thoughts. Mickey takes a sip of his beer, savoring the taste before taking a long drag off the cigarette, blowing the smoke out over his head. 

Ian pulls one knee up, resting his elbow on it as his eyes stay trained on the chasm in front of them. The bridge runs over a small river, but what Ian's eyes keep focusing on is the cliffs, and the dark chasm beneath them. He feels like he's standing on the edge of some giant precipice, dangling over the side dangerously, just waiting for a push one way or the other. 

Pulled back toward safety, or flung into the unknown abyss. 

Jesus, he's losing his damn mind. 

The silence stretches on for what feels like a really long time. Mickey finishes his first beer, tossing the empty to the side.

Enough already. 

Mickey's fucking doing this shit. 

"Pass me another." he says to Ian, hand out. Ian fishes around in the bag for a second before producing another beer and passing it over. 

Mickey takes it, moving it to his other hand so he can cock back and hit Ian as hard as he can in the arm with a closed fist. 

"Ah, fuck." Ian groans, turning to glare at Mickey, fist raised to retaliate. "What the fuck was that for?" 

Mickey almost growls. What the fuck was that for? Seriously? 

"You never fucking visited me." the words are out of his mouth before he even knows he wanted to say them. He knew he had to talk to Ian, but he'd had no idea where he wanted to start.

But Ian abandoning him was as good a place as any, he supposes bitterly. 

Ian has the decency to look ashamed. If he really is or not, Mickey has no idea. He not so sure he can read Ian anymore, and that thought scares him more than anything. 

Ian turns away, willing away the stinging in his throat. He didn't expect Mickey to be so blunt. He had thought Mickey would dance around the subject, or ignore it all together. That's what he'd have done back when they were kids. 

But Mickey's changed a lot, apparently. Ian's still trying to get used to a Mickey who so openly admits his feelings. 

This is what Ian's always wanted. Why did he have to get it when he couldn't fucking keep it? 

Ian sees the pleading, frantic look in Mickey's eyes. It's a look he knows well. He saw it on Mickey's face when Ian left for the Army, and when he came out at the Alibi. The worst time had to be when Ian was in the psych ward that first time. 

That look means Mickey is desperate to make Ian UNDERSTAND something, but he doesn't have to words to articulate it. 

Ian owes him an explanation, at least. A good reason why he dropped him like a bad habit when Mickey needed him the most. 

The problem is, he doesn't have one. Not one that makes sense, and not one that would excuse Ian's behavior. Because there is no excuse, not really. 

So he goes with the truth. Part of the truth, anyway. 

"It was hard, seeing you, through that glass...." Ian says it softly, like he's afraid Mickey's going to go off on him. He is afraid. Because that's a selfish fucking thing to say, a selfish way to think. Ian knows it as he's saying it, but he lets it out anyway. 

Mickey doesn't explode on him, though. He just gives him this uncharacteristically pensive look before turning his eyes onto the bridge again.

Mickey bites his tongue, looking away from Ian. Hard? To see him through the glass? Okay.... He doesn't know what to say. Anything he can think of is mean and bitter and fucking rude. So swallows his angry retort. Again. He's so scared he's going to change Ian's mind. Send him running back to Chicago and away from Mickey forever. Maybe having this talk now was a bad idea. Maybe they should discuss this shit when they are settled in Mexico. When they are on firmer ground. 

But that little voice in the back of Mickey's head whispers again. Telling him if he doesn't ask this shit now, he'll never get answers, because Ian won't be there in Mexico. 

He takes a long drag off his cigarette, inhaling deeply, trying to calm his raging emotions. 

Ian tries to change the subject. "We better get going if we wanna get to the border by morning." 

Mickey shrugs, passing the cigarette to Ian. "Doesn't really matter when we get there, as long as we keep Boarder Patrol from recognizing me." 

Ian nods, unsure of what to say next. "Having second thoughts?" he asks suddenly. Second thoughts is all Ian's been having since he got into the car with Mickey. But he's sure as shit not going to say that. He's going to keep lying for as long as he can, no matter how much of an asshole that makes him. He's secretly hoping Mickey will say yes. That they can go back to Chicago and Mickey can turn himself back in. It would be bad, sure. But maybe he wouldn't get too much time added on. Maybe he could still get parole in a few years. Maybe Ian could be there for him this time. Put money on his books, visit him. 

Ian stares at Mickey, but doesn't say any of that shit. He knows, deep down, he'd probably not going do any of that. He hates to admit it, even to himself, but he probably would just go back to his new, easier life, and leave Mickey to deal with his own mess. Ian hates to even think this, but he's probably too selfish to be there for Mickey during an incarceration. It would be too hard. Just like seeing him behind the glass was too hard. Ian doesn't have it in him to weather that kind of storm. 

Mickey probably knows all that already, anyway. Ian's proved it to him. 

"No." Mickey replies, and Ian has to think for a second to remember what they are talking about. Oh, second thoughts. How could he forget?

"What am I leaving behind? My family?" Mickey continues, bitterness evident in his tone. He hasn't told Ian this, but he's not the only one who abandoned him once he got locked up. He hasn't heard from Mandy, Iggy or Colin in months. His brothers fell off the face of the earth right after his conviction, and Mandy moved away. She had sent him money twice. Once on his birthday, and once on Christmas. And she picked up when he called a grand total of three times. He'd been utterly alone, save for a couple people in prison he could actually count on. 

But he doesn't want to think of them, or that place right now. 

"Who cares if I ever see those shitheads again." he continues, trying to control his voice. "You had my back more than they ever did." 

Which isn't saying much, if you ask Mickey. But it's true. Ian was there for him when no one else was, even if he dropped the ball the past few years, left Mickey alone when he needed him the most. But Mickey is willing to forgive all that, because what matters is that Ian is here now. 

Ian takes a sip of his beer, considering what Mickey is saying. Sure, the Milkovich kids had never been as close as Ian and his siblings, but he's still shocked to hear Mickey talk about them so callously. He wonders when was the last time Mickey has talked to anyone in his family. 

Was Mickey really as alone as he said he was, this whole time? Ian can't believe that. Mandy used to visit him in juvie all the time.

Ian's own family slips into the forefront of his mind in that moment. He pushes it back. He doesn't want to think about Lip or Fiona right now, or what they would have to say about where he is right now. 

The thought of leaving them behind hurts him deeply. He's got more to lose than Mickey does. And even though neither of them say it, he knows they are both thinking it. 

Ian just stares at Mickey for a moment, waiting for him to say more, while Mickey stares right back, waiting for Ian to apologize or explain himself. Anything, really. 

That doesn't happen. 

Mickey gives up after a tense little stare off, falling onto his back on the blanket. Ian follows suit and soon they are laying next to each other, staring up at the sky. 

They lay there, close enough to touch, but not moving to do so. They stare up at the full moon through the metal framework of the bridge. 

Mickey lets a tiny chuckle slip past his lips. "You ever think, back in the day, this is where we'd be?" he waves his hand around in a little disbelieving way, encompassing this entire insane turn of events. 

"You running from the feds..." Ian says, not bothering to take his eyes off the moon. "Yeah, I could have predicted that." he knows that's not what Mickey means, but he can't help but try to bring some levity back to the situation. If he can't be honest, at least he can be funny.

Mickey raises a hand, like he's about to backhand him. Ian flinches on instinct, but Mickey just laughs, bringing his hand back down to rest on his chest. 

Mickey sobers quickly, the gravity of the moment hitting him like a ton of bricks. He's running from the law. Ian is with him, but he's so damn sure Ian's not going to stay with him. He's fucking scared and anxious and he's wanted Ian next to him for so damn long. Now that he's there, Mickey can't help but feel like he's fucking it all up. Like he always does. 

He needs to be honest. After days of lying to each other and dancing around the truth, Mickey need to tell Ian exactly how he feels, for once. 

The laughter dies down. They are both looking at the sky, not daring to look at each other. 

"You ever think about me?" Mickey asks, putting it all on the line. Now or fucking never. "When I was in the joint?" 

Ian looks over at Mickey, but Mickey is not looking back at him. As if he can't take the risk, can't look on the off chance Ian is scoffing at him. 

"A lot." Ian whispers, his eyes traveling over Mickey's features. It's the truth. And Ian is relieved to be able to be honest with Mickey, even if it's only about this one thing. 

Mickey lets out a shaky breath, desperately trying to control his emotions. 

"Fuck, I missed you." Mickey breathes. He's tired of lying. He's going to tell Ian exactly how he feels, even if it hurts more than anything he's ever been through.

Ian doesn't say anything, and for a minute Mickey worries he's said something wrong. 

It should be obvious, that he's missed Ian. Doesn't Ian know? Doesn't he fucking understand that Mickey still loves him? Has never stopped loving him? Doesn't he fucking get it? 

What the hell is Mickey doing? Putting himself out there and getting nothing in return. Ian clearly doesn't give a shit. He's such a fucking idiot. 

"I missed you too." Ian says, voice wavering with emotion. 

Mickey's head tilts over, his eyes finally landing on Ian's wide-eyed green stare.

"Yeah?" Mickey asks, like an idiot. 

"Yeah." Ian agrees, turning on his side. He reaches up and runs a hand along Mickey's shoulder, down his side and landing on his hip. "Every fucking day. Missed you so much, Mick."

Mickey can feel tears prickling in his eyes. He needs to put a stop to that shit before it starts. He surges forward and wraps a hand around the back of Ian's head, pulling him down on top of him as his back hits the ground again. 

For all the talking Mickey wanted to do all day, all he wants now is to push all this shit aside for a little longer, and communicate with Ian in the one way that was always easy for them.

Ian groans as he lands on the ground on top of Mickey. The blanket is not very big, and they both have dirt all over them already.

"Fucking show me, Ian." Mickey says as he pushes his tongue into Ian's mouth. Ian smiles into the kiss, feeling more at home than he has in years. "Show me how much you missed me." 

Ian surprised himself when he growls. A low sound coming out of the very base of his stomach. He can't remember the last time he did that. 

But Mickey doesn't seem surprised at all. He just moans and pushes his tongue further into Ian's mouth.

Ian understands in that moment, that Mickey is the only person that brings out this side of him. That feral, primal side of him that wants to fuck and be fucked. The side of him that wants to be dirty and raw and wild. 

He's never wanted that with anyone else, and now he's sure he never will. 

He's not sure how to feel about that, given the fact that he is planning on leaving this man the moment they get to the border. 

Is he ever going to feel this way again in his life? Will he ever be able to get this high, without Mickey? 

Ian sighs as Mickey licks into his mouth fervently, his hands curling around to cup his ass. Mickey groans, biting Ian's bottom lip before kissing him hard again. 

Fuck it. If Ian's never going to feel this way ever again, he's going to make the most of the opportunity...

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

Mickey is in heaven. He's been dreaming of this moment for years. Sure they've fucked since he broke out of the joint, but this is different.

They are utterly alone, for one. Not a single soul as far as they eye can see. They have all the time in the world, for two. No one to interrupt them, no time limit or ticking clock. And three, Mickey has consciously decided to let all his stupid hang ups go. He's going to shut his mind of and just feel. He's not going to worry about the feds hunting him down, or the dangerous unknown world waiting for him in a foreign country, or the fact that he may be going into that unknown more alone than he's ever been in his life. 

He's going to put all that shit aside and just focus on the way Ian feels against him, on him, inside him.

Because he is here with Ian now, and that is more than what he'd ever expected once he got put away.

He's going to make every second of it count.

He sits up quickly, Ian swinging back onto his hands in surprise. He's got this worried look on his face, like he thinks Mickey's going to punch him or something. 

"Get your fucking clothes off." Mickey laughs, pulling his flannel shirt off his shoulders and throwing it aside before grabbing the hem of his t shirt and pulling it over his head. By the time he's going for his belt, Ian has already shed his jacket and shirt and is working on his own pants. He's got this hungry look in his eyes as he watches Mickey undress. 

"See something you like?" Mickey chuckles as he lays down to shimmy out of his jeans, shoes already thrown to the side. 

"You know I fucking do." Ian said as he finally divested himself of his jeans. "You are so fucking hot, Mick. I hate you being locked up, but your prison body is fucking incredible." 

Mickey preened under the praise, not used to hearing that shit from anyone. Never wanted it or needed it. But hearing it from Ian makes his whole body go hot. He wants Ian to want him. He's always wanted that, even when he was desperate to convince himself he didn't. 

There's no use hiding it anymore. He may be lying to himself about a lot of shit at the moment. But he's not going to lie about wanting Ian to desire him.

"Yeah?" he asks as Ian finally strips the last of his clothing off. He lays on his back on top of the blanket and reaches for Mickey with both hands. "Nothing really to do in there...."

"But work out." Ian laughs as Mickey crawls toward him. "I remember." 

Mickey laughs with him. It feels like forever ago when he'd said that to Ian, even though it'd only been a few days. Crossing the country with Ian, time had gone simultaneously fast and slow. They were so close to the end of the journey now. Mickey's not sure what is going to happen when they get to the border, but he knows he's not going to let a single second with Ian go to waste. 

He crawls over Ian's body, running his calloused fingers over his taut stomach, pointedly ignoring the straining erection standing proudly away from his body. "You look good, too. But I'm sure you know that." he says through a smile, dipping his head down to run his tongue along Ian's well-defined abs. "Always were a cocky fucker." 

"With good reason." Ian chuckled breathlessly as Mickey licked and kissed his way up his torso. 

"And so humble." Mickey retorted sarcastically as he bit down on one of Ian's nipples. 

"Ah, fuck." Ian moaned, reaching up to thread his fingers through Mickey's hair as he continued to explore his chest with his lips and tongue. A cool breeze runs up the canyon, causing goosebumps to break out all over Mickey's naked body. But he's not cold. The heat radiating between the two men's bodies along with the heavy arousal in the air is keeping him hot all over. Mickey ran his tongue along Ian's left pec, flattening the muscle over the peaked nipple before trailing his mouth up along his shoulder to his neck. 

Ian's hands were on his ass, gripping him hard enough to bruise, rocking him back and forth on his lap, their hard cocks sliding against each other in the tight space between them. 

Mickey groaned as Ian spread his cheeks and ran a dry finger along his hole. He grabbed Ian by his hair and directed their mouths together again. The kiss was desperate and needy, Mickey licking into his mouth feverishly. He bit Ian's lip, eliciting a deep moan from the man beneath him. Ian rocked his hips up, chasing friction. Mickey sighed into Ian's open mouth, totally lost in the feeling of their bodies moving together. 

He drags his mouth back to Ian's neck, wanting to leave as many marks on his body as he can. He sucks and bites, drowning in the broken moans spilling freely from Ian's mouth. 

God, he'd missed this. Even though they'd fucked a lot in the past few days, Mickey still felt like it wasn't enough. That feeling of want had not dissipated at all. Mickey's not sure it ever will. Even if Ian did come with him to Mexico, and they got their Big Gay Happily Ever After, Mickey's positive his desire for Ian will never be satiated. 

He's pulled out of his thoughts by Ian's needy whining. "Mick. Fuck, M'so hard. C'mon. Want you so bad." 

Mickey chuckles into Ian's neck before pulling off and sitting up straight on Ian's thighs. "Stuff's in the bag, tough guy. By your head." and with that he moves back down Ian's body, running his hands along his muscular thighs before gripping his dripping erection in his hand and guiding toward his own open mouth. 

Ian sucks in a sharp breath when Mickey's hot, wet mouth closes around the head of his cock. His mind is drawn back to when they were kids, and sucking dick was 'too gay' for Mickey. At the time, Ian didn't understand, what kind of bullshit was that? He could let Ian suck his dick, but him sucking Ian's suddenly made him a fag? 

But the more Ian got to know Mickey, it made sense. It was about trust and control, and power. Mickey hadn't trusted Ian. And he certainly didn't want Ian to have any control or power over him.  
The first time Mickey sucked his dick, Ian knew it was about more than a nut, and he'd been so overwhelmed, that Mickey would give himself over to Ian willingly like that. Get on his knees to pleasure Ian.

It had been a powerful moment for both of them, even if Mickey never said it. 

Then Ian had gone and turned it into a sour kind of power play. 'Suck my dick, whenever I want.' Ian grimaces at the memory. He'd been close to his psychotic break by then, but he couldn't blame that behavior on his illness. 

It was all about that power and control again. Ian was all fucked up over Terry and Svetlana. The marriage and the baby. He needed to know that Mickey belonged to him. Not his father, not his wife. Just Ian. 

And Mickey had proven again and again that he was Ian's alone. And what had Ian done?

Fucking threw it all back in his face, and threw him away. 

Fuck. What the fuck? Guilt and shame pool in Ian's gut and he can feel tears stinging his eyes. 

Mickey's head stills, mid-bob. He can still read Ian's body so well, even after time and circumstance had kept them apart so long. And the way his muscles are tensed right now, coupled with the fact that his fingers are no longer tangled in Mickey's hair means that something is not right.

He pulls off Ian's dick, looking up at him with worried eyes. His skin is flushed and his lips are puffy. He's fucking gorgeous like this and it just makes Ian want to cry even more. 

What is he doing? This whole trip is only going to make it harder to say goodbye. He was selfish to come down here with Mickey. But what else is new? Ian's always been selfish, especially with Mickey. 

"What's wrong?" Mickey asks, his hand still moving up and down on Ian's dick, keeping him hard. 

"Nothing. Just missed you." Ian says. It's partly the truth, which is more than he's been giving Mickey for days now. 

"I missed you too." Mickey replies, suddenly just as solemn as Ian. "But we're both here now, so let's not think of all that shit just yet. We got all the time in the world to hash out that old shit." he gives Ian a brittle smile, hoping beyond hope that he's not fooling them both. 

Ian nods his head, finally reaching behind him into the open backpack and pulling out the lube Mickey stole from one of the truck stops along their way. 

Mickey reaches out his hand for the bottle, totally ready to open himself up while sucking Ian's cock some more. But Ian shakes his head. 

"Come up here. Lemme do it." Ian pulls on Mickey's shoulder with his free hand, pushing him down on the blanket as he takes the bottle back and settles between Mickey's spread legs.

"Probably don't even need much prep. Mickey says, running his fingers through Ian's hair as Ian uncaps the lube and drizzles some along his fingers. "We've been fucking like maniacs for four states now." 

Ian chuckles, placing a tender kiss on the inside of Mickey's thigh just as he breeches him with two fingers. "Can't be too careful. Don't wanna hurt you." 

Mickey bits his lip, looking up to the black sky, stars littered the massive expanse as far as his eye could see. 

Ian doesn't want to hurt him? The thought makes him want to scream. Instead, he focuses on the feeling of Ian stretching him with his long fingers. 

He knows Ian didn't mean it like that. He wasn't talking about how he had ripped Mickey's soul out of his body and torn it to shreds. But that's what Mickey heard. Ian doesn't want to hurt him.

But he probably will. 

Ian is watching Mickey watch the sky, desperate to know what he's thinking. He doesn't ask, though. He keeps his mouth occupied instead, sucking the head of Mickey's cock into his mouth as he spreads his fingers inside his body. He twists his wrist, jabbing his fingers forward, making room for himself inside his lover. 

Mickey doesn't say anything else, afraid to ruin the moment with his emotional babbling. When did he become such a fucking fag? Ian did this to him. Made him want and need and FEEL so much. It fucking scared him. It always had. 

And now here's Ian, opening him up again, with more than just his fingers. He's got Mickey's whole chest split wide open, all his emotions and fears and desires spilling out all over the desert as Ian sucks his cock under the fucking stars. 

Maybe Mickey's dreaming. In a coma? Dead? Because this shit feels too unreal to be Mickey's actual existence. 

After long minutes of unnecessary prep and epic oral, Mickey taps Ian's head with two fingers. Ian looks up at him, lips still wrapped tightly around his cock. That sinful sight is something Mickey would never tire of. 

"I'm good." he sighs, stroking the side of Ian's face lovingly. "Put your dick in me." 

Ian pulls off his cock with a throaty laugh, pulling his fingers free and grabbing up the lube again. He slathers it along his hard cock, hissing as the cool breeze runs over his slick dick. He leans over Mickey's body, propping himself up on one elbow while he uses the other to position himself. 

Mickey wraps his arms around Ian's shoulders, twisting his legs up over his hips, wanting to be as close as possible. 

If this trip is going to end the way he thinks it will, he needs to be as close as he can, for as long as he can. Commit it all to memory. The way Ian's skin tastes under his tongue, the way his hair feels between his fingers, the way his hands feel as they grip his hip, or palm his ass. 

He doesn't ever want to forget what it feels like to belong to Ian. 

Ian pushes forward slowly, savoring every millimeter. He watches, wide eyed, as Mickey's head falls back, eyes closed in ecstasy. His fingernails dig into Ian's shoulder and Ian hisses through his teeth. He slides his hand up Mickey's side, settling over him completely as he finally bottoms out. 

"Oh god." Mickey groans, opening his eyes to find Ian staring down at him. They gaze at each other for a moment, Mickey's fingers flexing on Ian's shoulders. They just keep staring, their eyes saying all that shit they desperately wanted to get out, but couldn't find the words or balls to articulate. 

Ian can't take it anymore. He needs to do something. So he leans down and kisses Mickey tenderly. He pushes his tongue past Mickey's lips, more gently than he meant to, but it feels right in the moment. Mickey doesn't seem opposed, however, giving the tiniest little moan, his hand flying up to Ian's head to hold him in place as he finally starts to roll his hips. 

Ian can't help but be surprised by how tender and gentle they are being. Since Mickey escaped from prison Ian has noticed over and over how different Mickey seems. It's not a bad change, not at all. He's softer, more open, definitely more honest about his feelings. This is what Ian's always fucking wanted. What he threw away when he got sick. What he lost before he had a chance to really appreciate it. And now, even the sex is different. Less rough, less rushed, less violent. 

There had been times like that. Rough, dirty. But there were also times like now, slow and fucking passionate. Ian had only had sex like that with Mickey a handful of times when they were kids. Now he's had it a half dozen times in the past few days. 

How is he supposed to walk away from this? 

"Ian," Mickey moans. "C'mon, man." 

Ian realizes too late that he had stopped moving, pausing balls deep in Mickey's ass to have some kind of crisis of conscious. 

"Sorry." Ian say, his hips picking up speed again. "I just love you like this." he realizes what he's said too late, when a flash sadness colors Mickey's face.

"Okay." Mickey says quietly, flexing his fingers in Ian's hair and dragging him back down to his mouth, effectively silencing him. 

Ian kisses him back eagerly, letting himself get lost in the moment. Quieting his rambling thoughts more and more with every push forward. 

Mickey pulls back from the kiss, panting into Ian's mouth. He arches his back off the blanket when Ian hits his prostate, a low moan slipping past his lips totally unbidden. 

Ian always feels so good, no matter how they fuck. Slow or fast, hard or soft. Every time is the best time, and every fuck better than the last. 

He scratches his nails down Ian's back, because he remembers how much that turns him on. 

It works.

"Ah, fuck." Ian groans, pushing in harder. His body is flush over Mickey's now, their sweaty skin sliding against each other as they move together. Mickey's cock is pressed tight between their stomach,and the friction is fucking delicious.

Mickey tucks his face into Ian's shoulder, wrapping both arms around his back as Ian fucks into him. "You feel so good, Mick. Fucking take me so good. Nothing ever felt like this. Nothing will ever feel this fucking good."

Mickey moans, at the words or the movement between them, he doesn't know. All he knows is he's so turned on and so fucking happy and he feels so fucking free. He lets his head fall back to the blanket as Ian leans back on his knees, pulling one of Mickey's legs out and up to rest on his shoulder as he slams home again and again. 

Mickey knows Ian's tells, he knows he's getting close, so he reaches down and starts jerk himself off. He only gets as far as wrapping his fingers around his stiff dick before Ian huffs a laugh and smacks his hand away, taking his leaking erection in his own hand instead. 

"You know better, Mick." Ian laughs breathlessly, never once deviating from his punishing rhythm as he fucks Mickey hard and jerks him closer to orgasm. 

"Yeah, yeah." Mickey smiles dopily. "Ian Gallagher, full service top." 

He'll let Ian take care of him. He'll let Ian do anything he wants. 

"Fucking right." Ian groans. "It's MY job to get you off Mick. I love taking care of you." Ian is pounding him so hard now. Mickey's inched up so far on the blanket now that he can feel the dirt of the ground in his hair. Ian has one hand wrapped around his elevated thigh, fingers digging into the flesh hard, and the other stripping his cock fast and hard, just the way Mickey likes. "Just lying there, taking all of me. You fucking love it." 

Mickey nodded wildly, fully surrendering to Ian's onslaught. He did fucking love it. Every second of it. 

"M'close, Ian. Jesus." Mickey moaned, his back arching severely again. Ian gives him a feral growl in return, redoubling his efforts. 

Mickey can't fucking take it anymore. Ian is so fucking good. He feels him everywhere. Throbbing inside him as he chases his pleasure.

A low sound pushed out of Mickey's abdomen as he gasped and came between them. 

"Fuck yeah." Ian groaned. He released Mickey's dick, setting his soiled hand down on the blanket as he pushed into Mickey a few more times before stilling deep inside and coming hard. He collapsed on top of him with a chuckle, pressing their lips together once more before rolling off him.

They both laid there silently for a moment, staring up at the star-filled sky. Mickey waited until his breathing had returned to normal before sitting up and pulling his clothes back on. Ian did the same and before long they were both fully dressed again and sharing a cigarette. Mickey pulled another blanket out of the bag and spread it over both their laps.

"So gentlemanly." Ian giggled, then winced when Mickey backhanded him in the chest. "Ah, fuck off." Ian grunted, pushing him away with a flat palm to his forehead. Mickey laughed, feeling that light happiness surging through his body all over again. 

It's not just the incredible sex either, and he knows that. 

It's love. He loves Ian so much it fucking scares the shit out of him, just like it did all those years ago when he'd first figured out his feelings for the red head. But he's just as helpless against the feeling now as he was back then. 

Ian falls back on the blanket after the cigarette is gone, pulling Mickey down with him with a hand on his shoulder. Mickey goes easily, letting Ian maneuver him any way he wants to. He settles his head on Ian's chest, feeling his arm curl around his shoulder tightly. He lets his own arm snake around Ian's middle, relaxing into the hold. All fears and anxieties about what's coming next melt away and it's just Ian and Mickey and the open endless sky. 

Mickey knows he can't keep it. The happiness. The luminous, blissful feeling he has right now. Ian... He can't keep any of it. 

He's not sure if Ian is lying to himself, saying he's gonna go the distance. Or if he's been lying to Mickey the entire time, knowing full well he wouldn't stick around since he jumped in the car back in Chicago.

The only thing Mickey know for sure is that the biggest lie of all was the one he told himself, when he let himself believe for even a second that he'd be allowed to have something as beautiful as a life with Ian. 

Ian kisses his head tenderly before tipping his head down to press a slow, sweet kiss to his lips, barely any tongue at all. 

"Better get some sleep, if we wanna get an early start tomorrow. We'll be at the end of the line pretty soon." Ian mumbles against his lips. 

Mickey nods, kissing him back once more before resting his head on his chest again and letting his eyes fall closed. 

The end of the line.

Ian's right. One way or the other, they are reaching the end of the line...

If there's one thing Mickey and Ian were better at than fucking each other, it was lying to each other, and themselves. 

Mickey's content, wrapped up in Ian's arms, to let the lie go on, if only for one more night....

**Author's Note:**

> this is another request. this one was harder for me to write, and it's pretty heavy in the angst department, even for me, a seasoned angst professional. 
> 
> hope it wasn't too depressing. :)
> 
> thanks for reading, as always.


End file.
